


turn this table around

by mikantsumiki



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dom!John, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikantsumiki/pseuds/mikantsumiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>things changed, he grew up</p>
            </blockquote>





	turn this table around

**Author's Note:**

> i just,, wanted to write at least one fic for another otp of mine,,  
> obvious drabble and im sorry if its bad idk yeah

He used to be quite shy when it came to sex.

He wouldn’t be some blushing mess of pink and peach, but rather he’d go quiet and try to change the subject to something else. No John, Bro Strider doesn’t care about watching your shitty movies, any new pranks you’ve come up with while you were whisked away back in Washington.

Then again, that was back when he was barely blooming into a teenager, barely the age of fourteen at the time. It’s been a few years since.

You don’t really know what happened to that shy kid from way back when. He must’ve grown up a bit because all of a sudden it turned into him pulling you into your room by the collar of your shirt and your back smacking against the wall because he’s pushed you there and won’t let you go.

You don’t remember when this started happening – it’s always been the opposite away around – but you’re not complaining. In fact, you enjoy being able to sit back once in a while and let him take control; it means you’re not always the one initiating your sexcapades.

Tonight’s no different when he shows up at your place, making small talk with you for a while before pulling you into a kiss that takes all the breath out of your lungs. He always tastes like cake and bad puns but you doubt you taste any better to him and it doesn’t matter because he never stays on your lips for long. He always attacks your neck with hard bites and sucks until he’s left marks that’ll stay for days, leaves them on the hollows of your collarbones.

The kid likes to bite; you learned that a long time ago, but it only intensified as he grew older. It used to be just your lips and sometimes they’d be raw, red and swollen afterwards. That was just one of the few things he used to do when you had him pinned underneath you, panting like a bitch in heat.

He also had this weird habit of biting at his fingers to keep from getting too loud. At the time, you understood it was to keep from Dave hearing the two of you, but even as the years grew and your little bro moved out, it was still consistence. You’re not sure what stopped that.

He also used to be the worst dirty talker ever. Half of the time what he was saying was disgusting and maxed out on the use of nicknames like slut and whore and not in a good way. If you didn’t kiss him often, he’d be saying anything and everything that would make your erection deflate faster than a flat tire.

If he wasn’t saying something dirty, it was him cracking jokes at the worse time ever. Once, he used the “Wanna hear a joke about my dick? Nevermind, it’s too long!” joke on you and you wouldn’t touch him for a week. At least if he’s going to be funny while you’re trying to fuck him, he should make some funny jokes.

He’s different now and you don’t know if that’s a good thing necessarily. He’s leaner and has definitely lost all that baby fat he used to have, his muscles small but there. He doesn’t bite on his own fingers anymore; instead he makes you do it so that you can stick them in your ass afterwards and loosen yourself up for him. He knows just what to say to make you hard within minutes and he knows how to stick to his words. His jokes got funnier and sometimes you’d switch midway from a chuckle into a moan.

He has these dexterous fingers that can work magic on you; they know how to touch and tease you, stroke and please you. It seems as though the student’s teaching the master now and the master’s okay with that.

The two of you are a fumble of arms and legs on your bed within minutes of just heavy petting and makeouts, nails raking down sides and leaving marks in its wake. He doesn’t let you touch for long, pinning your hands above your head as he straddles your waist. You’re still fully clothed, even if your shirt’s out of place and now missing a button (and also saved for your cap, that got tossed a while back when he was tugging at your hair), and you’ve started panting softly, eyes locked with his through your shades.

You’re pretty damn sure he can see through those thick lenses because the next minute he’s got both of your wrists in one grip and his other hand hastily comes down to your fly. He yanks it down and gets his hand into your boxers, feeling your hot skin, toying with you like you’re some delicate gem he could crush with the softest of touches. You can—and probably should—easily make a grab for his arms and switch this situation around so that you won’t have to deal with how much he’s being an asshole to you right now and going slow, but you also want to see what his next move is.

Fucking tease can have his fun for right now, you can wait until tomorrow to plot revenge (of the sexual nature of course) (you know he won’t like that too much).

(You don’t fucking care).


End file.
